


Under the Influence

by Eliza



Series: 21 Days in April [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 05:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20169055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliza/pseuds/Eliza
Summary: Otabek and Yuri defile Victor's sofa.





	Under the Influence

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Bonibaru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonibaru) for keeping all the tenses straight and for laughing **at** me when required. She made it better.
> 
> And [Rana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranalore) for keeping me in character.

“This is a bad idea.”

“This is a wonderful idea,” Yuri countered as he buried his nose in Otabek’s open collar, then he opened another button and put his mouth on Otabek’s skin as well. “You smell so good. You’ve been on a plane for five hours, why do you smell so good?”

“Yuri—” Yuri cut off the rest of Otabek’s comment with a distracting, messy kiss. Otabek should have known this would happen when Yuri suggested they “sit down for a minute” while picking something up at Victor’s apartment on their way from the airport. Who was he kidding—yes, he knew. So now he was flat on his back on the sofa with his tongue in Yuri’s mouth and his hands on Yuri’s ass.

He broke the kiss and tried again. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” Oh God. Yes, they should. Yuri knew exactly how to use his mouth on Otabek's throat. They should be doing this all the time. Otabek gently tugged on Yuri's ponytail to encourage Yuri closer to his collarbone. It’s just— “We shouldn’t be doing this _here_.”

“Call it payback. Victor’s traumatized me more than once,” Yuri said, releasing yet another button, and continuing his kisses down Otabek’s breastbone.

“This is Yuuri’s house, too. Anyway, I like Victor.”

“You like me more.”

Yuri had no idea now much more. But someone had to be the grown-up here, and Otabek wasn’t sure he could manage it. “If you liked _me_ you’d stop when I ask you to stop.”

Yuri stopped. He also pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and looked Otabek straight in the eye. “You have _not_ said you wanted to stop. You’ve said, ‘bad idea’ then examined my molars with your tongue, and ‘shouldn’t’ then dragged me by my hair and put me where I should, but you haven’t said, ‘Stop, Yuri. Get the hell off me’. Are you saying that?”

Oh, fuck, he screwed that up. Yuri often said how much he liked that he didn’t have to guess with Otabek, so accusing Yuri of guessing wrong, particularly when he hadn’t, could sting like a betrayal. Yuri sat back on Otabek’s thighs as Otabek sat up and took Yuri’s face in his hands. “No.” Otabek gave Yuri a soft kiss. “I’m sorry. No.”

He didn’t have to guess either, the kiss Yuri gave back made it very clear all was forgiven. It started off just as soft but accelerated so smoothly that Otabek couldn’t say when it went from a tender brush of lips to Yuri licking relentlessly into his mouth. Otabek slid his hands under Yuri’s arms and around his back, trying to pull him closer. Instead, Yuri straightened his spine, tilted Otabek’s head back, and decided to stop being subtle.

Yuri looming over him from this position was new, and Otabek would have to let Yuri do it a few more—dozen—times before he figured out exactly what he thought about it. For the past year, it seemed that every time they found a few days together, he had to get acquainted with a slightly revised version of Yuri. He wasn’t complaining, the extra muscle was ending up in the most delightful places, but it highlighted how infrequently they saw each other. He ran his fingertips all the way down Yuri’s spine to take a double handful of one of those delightful places. Yuri broke the kiss, arching his neck with a delicious moan rumbling from his throat like a purr. Otabek was still tall enough to deal with that obvious invitation, accepting it with lips, tongue, then teeth.

“That’s what I thought,” Yuri said, a little breathless, but Otabek could hear the smirk and so nipped a little harder than usual. Yuri shoved him back onto the cushions with a snort of laughter then went to work on his fly, letting him see the smirk this time. 

“I don’t know why everyone thinks I’m the bad influence,” Otabek said as Yuri tugged Otabek's pants down his hips. When had Yuri’s shoulders start to look like that? 

“Might have something to do with your wardrobe,” Yuri said, absently. Otabek thought the black jeans looked great, but Yuri seemed far more focused on what was underneath them. Otabek’s underwear quickly followed his jeans, just far enough down to be a pain to try and get back up in a hurry, and his cock, hard on his belly, made a lie out of all the complaining he'd done. Yuri dragged a single, teasing finger along the underside as he gave Otabek one more chance to say stop. Otabek shook his head, smiling at Yuri’s obvious satisfaction as Yuri unfolded from his seat and stretched out on his stomach over Otabek’s legs.

“You _were_ a bad influence,” Yuri said, settling with his elbows beside Otabek’s hips and his knees between Otabek’s shins. “I just got better at it.”

Otabek laughed, then gasped as Yuri fondled the head of Otabek’s cock with his tongue. “Gold medal for you.”

Yuri stopped to laugh at that, looking up with a big grin and shining eyes which then widened in obviously feigned innocence. “But if you’re really that uncomfortable….”

“Don’t you dare stop.”

Yuri raised an eyebrow, and Otabek groaned. He knew anything approaching an order flirted with danger, and although Yuri didn’t technically stop, he did detour. The fingers which he’d wrapped around the base of Otabek’s cock reached for the few remaining buttons on Otabek’s shirt while the other hand impatiently pushed underneath it.

That was one of the things he'd missed most in the time between meetings, when they were confined to text and Skype—simply being touched. Yuri seemed to miss it as well, using his full hand, even his forearm, to cover as much skin as he could, strumming at Otabek's nipples as he brushed past but not pausing in his strokes. He didn't tighten his focus until he had Otabek's shirt wide open, then he slid a knee between Otabek’s thighs, as far as clothing would allow, and leveraged himself up Otabek's body to lick at the notch under his sternum.

“Yuri,” Otabek breathed. He slid his hands along Yuri's arms, which had slowed their motion when Yuri's lips had touched his skin. He really hoped there would be a chance to get Yuri naked soon but consoled himself with pushing his hands under the t-shirt sleeves and learning the new shape of Yuri's shoulders. Yuri nibbled along Otabek's lower ribs before putting his tongue to work on Otabek's abs, finding all the sensitive spots to push and suck to make Otabek squirm, all the while moving steadily lower. As he shifted, his ponytail provided a counterpoint with soft, teasing brushes, and Otabek had a sudden desire to see how much Yuri's hair had grown since the last time they'd done this. He pulled on the elastic keeping it contained. “Can I take it out?”

Yuri hummed and nodded as he settled into his original position without lifting his mouth from Otabek’s skin. Once freed, Yuri’s hair fell in a shifting curtain, taunting Otabek with half-glimpses of the beautiful face underneath. He sighed quietly, burying his fingers in the gold silk while Yuri panted around Otabek’s cock, covering it with licks and open-mouthed kisses. This didn't seem like Yuri's usual teasing, and it took a moment to realize what was causing the delay; Yuri had a hand down his sweats, taking his time while making some adjustments. Otabek loved having Yuri’s mouth on him—anywhere on him—and having Yuri so obviously get off on doing it made it that much hotter again. The perfect feedback loop.

Thoroughly distracted by the idea of Yuri hard and needy, Otabek was surprised when he was suddenly engulfed in wet heat, Yuri's tongue providing firm friction along the underside of his cock. It seemed like they were done fooling around. Yuri set a pace the slightest bit too fast to be comfortable. Yuri did everything like that, just a little too hard, too loud, too strong. Too perfect. Otabek lived for that push against the edge, that drive to reach almost too far. And this was going to be over too soon. 

Otabek pressed on Yuri’s shoulder, their standard signal, but Yuri just stretched his arms out, bracing on his hands, and sucked a little harder, took Otabek in a little deeper. Clearly, he wasn’t pulling off today. Yuri showing off with obvious intention should have been enough to send Otabek tumbling over the edge, but then Yuri looked up, only one stunning green eye visible through the veil of blond hair, and Otabek didn't just fall, he plunged. He tried not to close his eyes, tried to continue to meet Yuri’s gaze, but the intensity of the rush was too much. All the muscles in his back contracted and he arched off the sofa, eyes closed, breath stopped, until the first wave passed, then he collapsed back down, sighing, "Fuck, Yuri." 

After a half-dozen deliberately measured breathes, as Yuri continued to mouth at his sensitive cock, Otabek opened his eyes to find Yuri watching him. Yuri didn't usually linger long after Otabek came, and as Yuri's eyes went to Otabek's mouth, it was clear what Yuri wanted—what they both wanted—Otabek didn’t understand Yuri’s hesitation. Asking what was wrong would get a shrug at best and the beginning of a fight at worst, so Otabek just encouraged Yuri closer with caresses to his face, tugs on his hair, eventually a hand at the nape of his neck until Otabek could curl up, connect their lips, and take an unsubtle taste. Whatever had caused the reluctance evaporated, and Yuri sank into the kiss, giving Otabek full control and full access to his mouth. His focus, however, seemed to be in finding a stable position, eventually wedging a knee between Otabek’s waist and the back of the sofa, and settling the other between Otabek’s thighs again.

Otabek blamed his post-orgasmic brain for not seeing this simple issue sooner. He cupped Yuri through his sweats and pulled back from the kiss just enough to whisper, “What do you want? Yura, what can I do?”

Yuri raised himself up a little more, looking intently at Otabek. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he said. His voice was soft and raspy, and the implication made Otabek gasp. Yuri pushing too far again; so fucking perfect. Yuri ran light kisses over Otabek’s cheekbone, then pressed his own cheek against it. “Touch me, please, just touch me.”

When Yuri was close, he stopped kissing. Otabek liked a messy tangle of lips when he was coming, but he loved hearing the very soft sounds Yuri made, only audible when his breath brushed Otabek’s ear. For most of the time they'd been doing this, it seemed that Yuri had wanted to distract them both from the fact of it happening with frantic kisses and touches and talking. That had disappeared lately as Yuri increasingly gave in to his instinctive, refined focus and let himself completely surrender to the sensations. 

Otabek pushed Yuri’s sweats down to his thighs, stroking over as much skin as possible while swiftly getting the job done. He brought his hand up for a quick lick over his palm, but Yuri intercepted it, coating it generously with his tongue before tucking his face back against Otabek's. 

"Please," Yuri breathed, then, "Yes. Fuck," as Otabek first slid his fingers along the length of Yuri's cock and then cradled it firmly in his palm. No wonder Yuri was monosyllabic, he was so hard it could have been steel under the fine skin. The first few strokes had Otabek starting to pant himself, it was so good to hold Yuri like this. He felt like he was coming again, matching Yuri’s breathing, tensing as Yuri rocked into his hand for the final few strokes, then relaxing as Yuri sank against his chest with a heaving gasp. He brought his free arm up, holding him secure, as Yuri shook through the next few breaths, until he eventually settled his weight fully on Otabek, loose-limbed and sated.

“I miss you,” Yuri said, very quietly, into Otabek’s skin. He might not have meant for Otabek to hear. They didn’t do that to each other. Otabek closed his eyes against the gathering tears and tightened his hug, even bringing up his sticky hand, not worrying about Yuri’s t-shirt. Yuri took a deep controlled breath and then tried to press them even closer together. They had a standing agreement that any extra moisture on their faces in moments like this was due to sweat.

Otabek blinked open his eyes to the reminder that they were in Victor’s living room. They should move. _He_ should move. His coach was going through a horrible break up, it could be a good time to suggest a change in home rink. He had some connections in Helsinki…. He kissed Yuri’s temple. “We should get up. When’s Victor due home?”

“Next month. He’s in Japan with Yuuri watching cherry blossoms or something.”

This time, Otabek wasn’t careful about dragging Yuri up by his hair. “Sometimes you're an awful little shit.”

“I’m a little shit who's housesitting.” Yuri’s grin was blinding. “_We’re_ housesitting.”

Three weeks to themselves. Otabek wasn’t sure whether to be ecstatic or terrified of the idea. Three weeks of waking up with Yuri, would he be able to leave again? Three weeks of touching Yuri when he wanted, how he wanted…. Would he be able to survive on just Skype after that? Three weeks of Yuri….

He waited until Yuri’s smile just started to fade before saying, “How big is Victor’s shower?” One thing he might be able to do was reclaim his bad influence standing.


End file.
